


Lullaby

by Colorfullyminded



Series: Pinescone Month [4]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Trouble Sleeping, Who just wants his lover to be happy and well rested, Wirt's a good fiancee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 01:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colorfullyminded/pseuds/Colorfullyminded
Summary: Sometimes, with all the shit that goes down in his life, it's just a bit too much for Dipper to handle. That's when the nightmares set in. Thankfully, Wirt is there to help him through those times.





	Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> 4th Prompt: Comfort

He doesn’t regret his decisions. Not for one second does he regret the profession he chose. 

Monsters, mysteries, mayhem. He loves those things. He loves exploring the unknown, he loves solving mysteries, he loves finding cryptids. He loves living a fast, and dangerous, but wildly fulfilling life. Every since he was 12 and went to Gravity Falls, the odd and unexplainable has been his passion. He loves all those things.

...In the daytime.

Something about night though. That’s when all those once happy memories, and great adventures, morph into feverish nightmares. Things that were whimsical in the light of day, become wicked in the shadows cast by the moon.

He’s dealt with tons of things, and things far scarier than when he was first starting out. He thought Bill Cipher was the worst of the worst, until he found that there were far more dream demons in the world, and some with more cruel intentions than bringing about pure chaos.

Sleep was often a struggle to achieve when he was younger, when his mind was first opened to the world outside his own. Sleep is now nigh impossible when he recounts all the monsters who want to do him in. 

It’s gotten to the point that he takes sleep medication so he doesn’t have to dream. So he doesn’t have to worry about something trying to get in, trying to take over. So he doesn’t have to wake, kicking and thrashing, screaming into the darkness. So he doesn’t accidentally claw his lover in the face, for the hundredth time, because he can’t pull himself back to reality, because he can’t distinguish the warm body of his fiancee with the sweet embrace of death.

The medication is a bitter pill to swallow; literally, and figuratively. He hates how it makes him feel. He hates the feeling of relinquishing control. Letting his body become numb is a primal fear within himself, because it feels like being possessed. Even when the doctors, and his family, and his sister, and his fiancee tell him it’s to help, it’s supposed to make things easier, he feels like it’s a trap. 

For those few seconds, before he pops the pill in, and takes a swig of water, he weighs the options of taking a sleeping aid. Does he give up his control, his freewill, to allow himself a peaceful, dreamless slumber? Or does he risk the night terrors, tossing in his own sweat soaked clothes-- even the chance of hurting his lover, just so he feels some semblance of cognition?

If it was just him, he would say the latter. But he’s not the only one laying in his bed anymore.

Yet every night, he struggles. Because he hates the sluggish, half competency he becomes when he’s drugged up. He hates slurring through his words, and being only somewhat present, especially when his boyfriend works late into the night. He wants to be able to hold conversations, and keep his boyfriend company. He likes the sleepy, late night talks before bed, the calm before the storm. 

But if he’s taking his medicine, he needs to take it at a specific time, to keep his schedule. And the pill kicks in at the exact same time, every night, like clockwork. So there’s many cons to outweigh the pros, even if he knows the pros are very vital to his well being.

He just wishes he could enjoy his profession in the late of night, like he does in his waking life. He wishes it was simple when he slept. He wishes it was easier to manage, but dreams are fickle, and there’s not much he can do in his subconscious. He has no control over his dreams.

  
  
I guess it’s a lose lose, no matter which way he swings it. He’s gotta let go of his control in one way or another. It’s just which is the lesser of two evils? He struggles to make a distinction.

…

It’s times like these that he appreciates the most.

When he’s sitting in the big, red armchair, on his fiancée’s lap, listening to him read aloud. When he’s curled up, clinging to Wirt’s sweater vest, head resting comfortable in the crook of his neck, feeling more like he’s 12, instead of 22. When he feels small, and vulnerable, but in a way that’s comfortable.

That doesn’t make sense, but it’s 1 in the morning, so it doesn’t have to make sense.

His lover has a thin frame, is less bulky than himself, but there’s something safe, something definite in being in Wirt’s embrace. There’s something about the older man’s voice, the way he reads, the way he enunciates the words, that lulls his mind. The way he licks his finger, and flips the page shouldn’t be all encompassing, but by god, Wirt makes it feel like it is.

He watches his fiancée’s eyes, smoky gray-- illuminated by the fireplace’s light-- flickering back and forth, drinking in every word on the page. Wirt’s lips, slightly chapped, moves effortlessly as he reads.

He feels Wirt’s long, elegant, musician fingers threading through the knots and tangles in his hair, gently untangling them. He feels the hand go lower, massaging the kinks in his neck, then back up again to massage his scalp.

He purrs, lips humming over his lover’s skin.

  
  
A soft laugh, “Despite claiming otherwise, you have very kitten like qualities”

He mumbles, half heartedly, “Shut up. I do not.”

Wirt hums, and goes back to reading aloud. 

His eyes flutter shut, just listening. Just taking it in.

“Did you take your medicine?”

  
  
He frowns. “No, not tonight.”

  
  
“Dipper--”

  
  
“Please, Wirt. Just tonight. Just tonight, be my sleeping aid. You’re so much nicer.”

“I’m not as effective.”

“Tonight...I have a good feeling about tonight.”

He doesn’t want it to be a fight. He knows it causes issues, but he can’t stop feeling the way he does.

Wirt relents, maybe because he too is comfortable with where they are. “Okay, just tonight. But you have to keep taking the medicine. I know you hate it, I know you hate feeling barely coherent, I know it sucks, but it works. You don’t have as many anxiety attacks, you don’t wake up from nightmares nearly as much, and you aren’t carrying bags under your eyes from weeks and weeks without sleep. I worry about you. I hate seeing you in pain. If you gotta be out cold all night, but happy and rested, then I’ll take it, every time.”

He smiles sleepily up at his fiancée. “Despite claiming otherwise, you’re quite the worry Wirt.”

Lips press in the space between his eyebrows, holding there for a tender moment.

“You give me a lot to work with.”

  
  
“...But you love me?”

  
  
The hand in his hair moves down to intertwine with his left hand, their engagement rings clinking together. “Isn’t that obvious?”

He smiles, kissing the junction between Wirt’s clavicle and neck. “I’m a lot to work with, remember?”

Lips find his own; the two taking in the sweetness of each other. When they pull apart, Wirt’s eyes are bright; coals burning in the reflection of the fire’s light. “But you’re worth every second, my love.”

Returning to their earlier position, Wirt abandons his book to give his lover his full attention.

He doesn’t regret his decisions. Not for one second does he regret the profession he chose. 

Monsters, mysteries, mayhem. He loves it. 

...In the daytime.

Something about night though. That’s when all the fears come out. When all his insecurities accumulate, mixing with the consequences of his prior actions that adrenaline initially nulled.

Something about the night is terrifying. 

Because everything catches up with him. 

It’s an overwhelming feeling.

When everything catches up with him.

It’s terrifying.

“Will you read me one of your poems?”

“Which one?”

“Any of them. Just keep talking. I just wanna hear your voice.”

“...Okay.”

The night is frightening, because that’s when it all catches up to him. 

  
  
It’s sometimes all too much to handle. 

But that’s why he’s so thankful for Wirt. Because after everything, after every stupid decision, after all the arguments, after all the danger he’s put himself in, and the reckless actions he’s taken; after all those sleepless nights, those fitful nights, after the kicking, and screaming, and fighting, and crying--after all that, _ Wirt’s still here. Still by his side. Loyal, dependable, unwavering. _

It’s a lot to handle, but Wirt helps to carry some of that burden. Even if it’s just with some words, or a stroke of his fiancée’s hand. When it catches up with him, Wirt’s hand reaches out to steady him again.

Wirt is the lullaby that quiets the night.

**Author's Note:**

> This might actually be one of the shortest prompts I've done for this month. I know, I can't believe it either.
> 
> I just wanted to try writing something simple and sweet. I feel like Dipper would have a lot of trouble sleeping, and all those things he liked doing in the day would become fears when he closes his eyes. 
> 
> Wirt is there to be a good supportive fiancee though. He tries to help Dipper take his medicine, because that's the correct thing to do, but Dipper's stubborn, so sometimes he just offers his lap, and his arms instead. It makes Dipper less fussy-- though again, it's not always likely to succeed as the sleeping pills. But Wirt would be lying if he said he didn't mind doing it this way. He also enjoys Dipper talking him through his writing, or snuggling with him while he reads. Again, he just wants what's best for his man.


End file.
